Coup De Theatre
by StolenCompass
Summary: The Verdict is a place of sin and temptations... also a place of secrets. In the deepest, darkest place of Manhattan lies this little place where nothing is ever right, where the angels meet the devils, where society is at its worst. Why did Santana Lopez find herself in this place a few years ago? And how will one Sebastian Smythe fit into the picture?
1. The Original Sin

She had always been a special little girl. She was too smart for her age, too mature for her little friends to comprehend, too beautiful to be regarded as a child. She moved like she knew how the adult world works, like she knew the twists and turns of life.

She was beautiful.

Everybody knew it, even her.

She grew up to be even more beautiful than ever—her long, dark mane flowing into wavy locks on her back, her smile that could power a thousand light bulbs, her eyes are the lightest shade of brown. She was more beautiful.

By the time she was fourteen, she was delved into a private school instead of her usual home schooling. She met friends, and because her parents are wealthy, she received gifts that shot her into popularity. She knew she was different, that she's smarter, more mature, and more beautiful than any of the people in her school.

She just didn't know what to do with that realization.

But this world is a very, very, _very _cruel world. It twists when you thought it'd only turn.

A month after she turned fifteen, she received a phone call from one of her neighbors asking her to come home immediately. That she did—but when she arrived, she never saw the mansion that she used to see on that spot just across the street. She never saw her home—only the dark residue of the ashes that surrounded the ground, the burnt smell of different things, and the sharp pain that strangled her.

Her world seemed to have stopped, that even when everyone was looking at her and talking to her, she couldn't process anything.

"My mama? My papa?" she asked, looking directly at the remnants of her home. She wondered why she was the first one here, that if anything, her parents should be here any minute. Why was she the first one here? Where are they?

One hand shook her shoulder and brought her back to reality. "I'm sorry, San. They were in the fire."

After that, she disappeared.

No one knew where she went.

The beautiful girl was never to be seen again.

* * *

Manhattan, known for its beauty at night. The beauty of the lights, the people, the buildings—everything about it is heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

However, Santana Lopez never took in the beauty of this place. Her calling was to wander through the streets at night until her feet brings her to the only place that she could stay in for the night… and every other night for the last few years.

She kept track of how many nights she had spent in this place, but she lost track of it and decided that actually keeping track of it would drive her mad.

Once she arrived at the door, Jason, the gay gatekeeper who was a little over forty and had worked at the place for ten years now, looked up at her with a little smile.

"Good evening, dear," he greeted, crinkling his little beady eyes at her.

Jason had always been so nice to her ever since she presented herself to that place as a young girl. He saw her as a desperately broken girl, which in that moment a few years ago was true. But this place is cruel and he didn't ever think that she belonged there.

But she was a headstrong little girl and she knew she had to do everything to get in there or nothing will become of her.

"Good evening, Jay," she replied, shuffling her feet a little at the coldness of the weather. She was wearing this ridiculously heavy coat that dragged her body, but kept her warm nevertheless.

"What hideous animal do you have covering your body?" asked the humorous man with a proud little chuckle, pertaining to the coat.

She shrugged and let herself smile at this. "This is the hide of a Chupacabra found in Texas. It snarls at night."

The gatekeeper laughed and pulled his own thick coat around his body as the wind blew harshly.

He took a few seconds before leaning in with his eyes growing darker, whispering to her. "Someone's coming tonight, darling. Jacques would want her best girls out there on stage tonight. I just want you to be careful…"

"I'm gonna be okay, Jay," she replied, smiling at his concern. "I'm _saved_, remember?"

The older man's lips pursed into a tight smile at her determination. He knew exactly what she meant by being _saved _and it's not in a good manner.

She nodded at him for the last time before meeting the loud music from inside The Verdict.

The male patrons of the club were hooting at Veronica on stage and she could just flash a weak smile at her when their looks met as she weaved through the crowd to get into the backstage to change.

Veronica is a very pretty girl with her flowing blonde waves and her statuesque body. She was also one of the more talented girls here in The Verdict, and one of her only friends. Sometimes, Santana worries about her because she's often depressed about her social standing and she takes it out by drinking so much.

One of the new girls, Johanna, met her at the door of the backstage with a grim expression.

"Jacques wants to see us in five minutes," she said, somehow her nervousness evident in her tone.

"I'll be there," she replied, giving her an assuring smile.

The younger girl didn't seem to take notice on it as she walked briskly past her, too occupied at what might happen.

Luckily, she knew what would happen next although she wouldn't consider herself lucky enough.

Most of the patrons of the club would go there to watch the dancers dance and have meaningless intercourse with them. But some of the 'more special' girls get to be saved… and not in a way that will make them lucky.

Some of the wealthier patrons of The Verdict gets this special treatment from the club owner, Jacques Heathman, wherein she saves some virgin girls and makes them pick which one they want by means of meeting them _once _in person. The girls could only meet the high-end men once, and whether they like it or not, they're going to lose their virginity to one of them.

Some of them are good-looking bachelors, but most of them are too old they could be anyone's fathers.

The 'buyers' remain anonymous to the girl until they get to meet them for their very first sexual encounter.

The girls in the club call these men 'Gentleman' as a euphemism, a somehow band aid to the cut, though some of them have really kinky minds that are not gentle at all.

It is cruel, but it pays a lot more than the other services they had to offer.

Santana's Gentleman had gotten her in her first year in The Verdict, and until then, she was allowed to dance but wasn't allowed to have sex with any other man.

The rules are they would be allowed to dance and tease, but to have intercourse with another man inside or outside of the club is prohibited. Jacques Heathman is a woman in her late thirties who's a little young for her age, but wise nevertheless. She's brutal with her rules and she's got a different take on punishment.

Only one girl had been known to have been punished by Jacques: Penelope Green, a young girl of seventeen. She had sex with her boyfriend a night before the Night of her and her Gentleman. As to how the club owner knew about this, it was still a mystery, but poor Penelope found herself in a coma for three days with multiple fractures and mild internal bleeding. When she woke up, she could not remember anything—but the doctors told her that she slipped on the subway stairs and bumped her head.

The girls had been too scared to break the rules ever since then.

And why do young virgin girls go to The Verdict for a job, you say?

Desperation.

Girls go to that club because they are desperate for a job, or desperate for something else. Either way, desperation is another feeling that could maneuver minds and bones.

Santana was fifteen when it happened to her and until now, she could feel the desperation in her bones. She knew that there was a deeper meaning to what had happened to the fire, that there was some kind of motive behind everything that has happened.

When she ran away, she knew it would be a foolish move. But as foolish as it is, it was the only way out.

* * *

The Verdict is a place of secrets.

It is a place of many unholy deeds, a place of sin and temptation.

But how do you find angels in this grimy place?

Let this be the puzzle, my dear friends. How did Santana Lopez find herself here a few years ago? And how will one Sebastian Smythe fit into the picture?

* * *

**A/N: **Heya, guys. This is another fic that's... yeah. :)

Another take on this beautiful pairing. Give me your best shot at the review section below.


	2. Strange Men

The bruises would tell you a different story. Anyone could make a story about it, something that's far from the truth to conceal the ugliness of it. Anyone could make something up, a fall from the stairs, a bump to the head, but only they would know about it.

Who would it fool? The people around them, the people they talk to everyday, their friends from outside The Verdict, their boyfriends, their parents.

But as much as they want it to, the stories will never wipe away the memories. It would never fool them.

It leaves temporary marks on the skin, it imprints permanent scars in their memories.

Sometimes, these girls would wish they had never ventured in there—but there are things that are too late to change.

These girls are void of dreaming about fairytale happy endings, of anything happy really, because they think they are bound to this occupation for until something really bad happens.

"Remember what Jacques said before?" Veronica asked, sniffling as she brought the bottle of vodka up her pale glossed lips. Santana and another one of the newer girls, Kelly, stood next to her in the bar as she downed half a bottle of her first drink that night. "_Nobody dies old in this kind of job. It's either they die of being too sick… or they go mad._"

"Am I mad, Sanny?" she asked, looking at the Latina with wild eyes as she dropped the bottle on the counter with a loud thud. It was a surprise that the glass—or the wooden counter, for that matter—didn't break at the impact.

She shook her head and, with a light tone, said, "No, you aren't, Ronnie. You're just drunk. Let's get you home, come on."

But no matter how strong they held on her arms, the blonde wouldn't budge. She actually did, but she bounced right back on her seat and continued downing the bottle.

The bruises on her left chin were to blame.

That night was another one of the rough nights in The Verdict. A group of fresh college frat boys took a stroll into the club and picked a few of the girls for themselves. Unfortunately, Veronica was mixed into that group and everybody knew what monsters these boys are.

And as usual, she's spending the next few hours drinking until she's passed out.

Luckily, Josh, the bartender of the bar volunteered to help carry the young girl out of the place. This hulky, all-American, nice guy would always be found tending the bar next to the club every night and Santana and the girls had found quite a liking in his calm demeanor, unlike the other people that surround the place during nighttime.

They gave the girls a smile as she put the passed out lady inside the cab waiting for them outside the bar. When he stretched out from the interior of the cab to look at them again, he was solemn.

"You all are beautiful," he said, biting his lower lip a bit. "Why do you insist on working in that hell hole?"

Kelly and Santana shared a knowing look before Santana spoke. "There are some decisions that are hard to erase…" after a few seconds of silence, she said, "Thanks, Josh."

She made to reach into her pocket to pay him, but the kind man stopped her.

"No, it's fine," he said. "It's on me."

The two girls smiled at him before bidding him goodbye and getting into the cab.

Once inside, Kelly, the pixie-haired girl with dark hazel eyes, looked up at Santana with a contained smile on her face.

"Isn't he dreamy?" she breathlessly asked.

Santana grinned.

Kelly might be a new girl in the job, but her bubbliness and her ability to smile amidst the drama and the stature was exceptional. Santana thinks that this situation would never be able to rob her of a sweet girl's dream of falling in love. And at the moment, she's falling in love with the bartender.

"Well," she sighed, "you're gonna have to pull him out of that bar if you want to get into his pants. You know, I think he lives there—

"Sanny!" she squealed, making Ronnie stir in her deep slumber. "I do not want to… get into his pants," she said more quietly.

Santana shot her an incredulous look, one with her infamous arched eyebrow.

"Fine," the younger girl surrendered. "I might be… you know, a little infatuated. But that's it!"

"Okay," she replied, "you convinced me."

But she did not look convinced, and this led to Kelly getting even more paranoid and trying to convince her that, in fact, she's not smitten at all.

Luckily, the drive to Kelly and Ronnie's apartment was a few minutes away from the bar because the more the younger girl refused, the more she got frustrated and obvious.

Pulling the drunk and passed out woman out of the cab was another challenge, as hard as putting her inside. The two girls struggled pulling Ronnie out by her feet, which was to no avail although they both got a _kick _out of it.

The cabbie ran around the hood of the car to hurriedly help them as they were desperately tugging at the woman's shoes.

With a slight grunt, the old cab driver hoisted Ronnie up on his sturdy arms and smiled at the other sober girls.

"Your friend's a heavy drinker, eh?" he said as they carried her up a single flight of stairs and then into the bedroom of their fairly spacious shared apartment.

"You don't even know the half of it," Santana said, rolling her eyes and paying the cab driver.

He smiled kindly at them and then walked away.

The door clicked shut while they both stood in silence, staring at their disheveled friend who was now lying with her cheek against the mattress and her hair splattered across her face in a perpetually beautiful way.

"So I guess I have to go now," said Santana, looking at Kelly with a mischievous grin. "You go plan on getting into Mister Heartthrob's pants and I better get going. It's way past my bedtime."

"Santana!" Kelly quietly squealed, bumping Santana with her hips.

When she made to go, she gave a quick glance at Ronnie who had turned the other way.

"She'll definitely wake up with a killer hangover tomorrow," she told Kelly who nodded with vigor. "Bye, then. Make sure the Tylenol's ready by her bedside or _you'll_ wake up with a headache."

"Yeah," Kelly replied, giving her a kind smile. "Thank you and good bye."

* * *

Santana never got to notice the quietness and queer peacefulness of Manhattan at night, mainly because every time she has a free time, she's busy trying to pull Ronnie (or sometimes, some of the other girls) out of her misery.

Now that she's finally got the time to quietly explore its magnificent lights and the view from below, she noticed that it would have been a glorious place to travel to if she weren't… who she is now.

She ventured the silent streets of a tranquil annex of a Manhattan highway to reach the subway, which was peculiarly almost empty except for a mother with her little son and a corporate-looking young man.

She quickly spared a glance at the mother who looked like she was disgruntled and bewildered as she clutched her hyperactive son to prevent him from running towards the deep tracks. She kept looking at her wrist watch and tugging at her son's collar hard enough to yank him back to her grip.

Then she gazed at the corporate-looking young man who was puzzlingly looking at her, too, with an unreadable expression in his strangely enticing sea-green eyes; his lips were curled upward in a smirk-like expression, and his eyes kind of had a curious glint in them. She decided not to linger anymore because this is weird. They are in a subway—and staring is rude.

Her brain was a little out of its element that night because she had downed a few drinks herself—thinking about getting as drunk as Ronnie, but deciding against it. Unlike the girls at the club, she does not choose alcohol as a way to numb the guilt. She, instead, chooses the company of the other girls.

What she does might not be righteous in any way, inspected in every angle, but there are certain things that she'd like to keep for herself—like her health. Yes, even Jacques gave her the 'Look of Amusement' when she refused the obvious and quite strong beckoning of alcohol in the wake of their occupation.

The moment the train brushed past her and into its immediate stop, she quickly took a step forward towards its opening doors, getting in and taking the seat right next to the door.

Her careful eyes watched as the mother and her son entered almost as immediately as her and took a seat on the plastic bench two seats away from hers. She waited for the corporate person to make his entrance, but was surprised when she felt a gentle impact on her hip.

Her head snapped to her right and was again surprised to see that it was, indeed, the corporate man who was now sitting beside her even when almost every seat on the train was empty.

"I'm sorry," he said in that silky voice that's meant to be heard in bed. She's not gonna lie, everything about this man is seductive—and now that she's seen him up close, she could say that even his scent is intoxicating. "Did I surprise you?"

Her eyes slightly narrowed at this. _Is he making a move on me?_

"No, I actually enjoyed your entrance into _my_ personal bubble," she replied, scowling at this stranger.

She was even more surprised than before when this man chuckled at her response like it was a good-hearted joke.

After that, she was met with silence and neither of them moved. The strange corporate man remained a hairbreadth away from touching her. When the train started moving, he slightly slid a little towards her but regained his tiny distance after a split second.

She shot him a look while he only returned it with a good-natured smirk that's becoming more and more annoying by the second.

The next few minutes were spent trying to disregard the fact that he's the closest a man had ever gone as an advance to her. Yes, maybe she's a little queasy with guys when it comes to closeness, both physically and emotionally, but tonight was just annoying because this man had presented himself as a complete stranger and yet he does _this_.

Not even Josh the bartender gets this close and he's one of the closest males to her.

In frustration, the moment the train rested on her stop, she shoved him away from her hard enough to make him stumble a little on the bench and got up to scurry away.

Whatever it was that he's calling her for was disregarded because she was dead tired and a whole day was ahead of her and she could not afford wasting time on strange people.

* * *

"It's late."

The moment he walked past the living room which was darker than the darkest place in New York, he heard a voice that would have spooked even the bravest of men. But it didn't even make his heart jump because he knew exactly who it was behind the shadows, sitting on one of the couches with a glint in his eyes.

It was his uncle.

"I have gone drinking," he replied nonchalantly, stopping on his tracks with a sigh and a hand running through his hair. His coat hung in his grip and his shoes were in his other hand.

"Alone," the older man said. "And you took the subway."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I am not twelve, uncle. And is it wrong to feel like a normal person for a little while?"

"Your reasoning is invalid, _Sebastian_," his uncle answered, standing up and showing up at the light.

His white and unruly hair was smoothed down to perfection; his eyes which were squinted and beady were focused scrutinizing his every move.

This is Maximillian Smythe, the CEO of the Max and Co., and Sebastian Smythe's uncle. He is the most meticulous man in America and also the most vindictive of all men. At least to Sebastian.

"You will know what the consequences will be when you're on your own, son," he said in a cool voice as if scolding Sebastian was so often that it became a routine.

"For God's sakes, uncle! I am twenty-one, I know what I want and what I need—and now I need you to get off of my back!"

His uncle was stoic as his nephew exploded in front of him.

The younger man stormed out of the living room and into his room upstairs, straight to bed and to deep thinking.

He pulled the little purse from his coat's pocket and opened it. A few of the coins rolled out of it and he quickly placed them back inside, taking instead the only paper inside it:

A receipt of a pawnshop to one Santana Lopez.

If she had heard him, she wouldn't have lost this small but important thing.

* * *

"_How is she, Jacques? Is she big already?"_

"She's more beautiful than ever. You're gonna have so much fun together."

"_When's her birthday? She's eighteen then, am I correct?"_

"A month from now, yes. She'll be ripe and ready when you decide to take her. She's one of our best girls—never complains. Healthy and fit, very ideal."

"_I hope you are not lying, dear Jacques."_

"I am not. But you have to see for yourself…"

"_That, I will do."_

The line went dead.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews, dear readers. Here you go. I hope it satisfied you... or gave you things to think about. Tell me about it in the review section below, yo!

Til next time.


	3. The New Curiosity

**A/N: **Hi guys. Sorry for this delayed update. I'm afraid every update's gonna be as late as this. I don't really know your definition of late, but I guess waiting sucks... I know. But school's, y'know, school and it's exhilirating.

Anyways, give me your best shot at the comments section below. I want to know what you think of this or should this be abandoned? I am seriously thinking about abandoning this. Tell me, guys.

* * *

It was a small copper-haired boy with bright green eyes staring at his reflection in front of the mirror, looking at the paling bruises on his cheek and the almost-healed cut on his lower lip. He had been crying that night, but it wasn't because of his father's hands.

It was because of his mother's words.

Everything hurts.

His back hurts from being bent over and spanked, his cheeks burn because of being slapped continuously—his ribs are the most painful of all because of being kicked there while he laid on the ground.

But most of all, there's this unfilled void in his chest that he tried so hard to disregard.

This was Thomas Hallowell when he was eight years old—wounded, scarred, and abused.

That was what he was like when the police found him alone on the streets of New Hampshire, almost dead from the cold.

He ran away from home with nothing but an oversized coat and a few bills in his pocket.

He transferred from one foster home to another due to his anti-social demeanor and his impossible attitude until one rich but childless couple adopted him when he was ten. And that was the moment he realized that when life turns around, it's almost as if everything will change. Almost.

His parents changed his name to Sebastian Smythe, thinking it appropriate to change his past into something a little more pleasant to the ears. He was spoon-fed and was spoiled to the point that it was fine even if he did not change his reckless attitude.

But something was wrong with Sebastian Smythe.

When his parents adopted him, they thought he was incapable of anything—what with growing in a family of nothing but alcohol and abuse. But when they entered him into private school, he soared to the top of his class effortlessly. He was also in the swimming team which made him a lot more popular than he already was—Sebastian Smythe was perfect.

But something was even more wrong with Sebastian Smythe.

The moment he reached his senior year, he began leaving in his wake a string of broken-hearted girls. Every month, he takes someone new and gives them hope that he's the one—when in fact, he's just there to break them.

He liked breaking hearts. He finds joy in it.

And when he sees someone he likes, he takes them and breaks them.

What an easy job.

That earned him a reputation that's not so foul to hear—a perfect heartbreaker. It appeals to women and men alike, which gave him a sense of power over anybody. Besides, who could say no to a charming face like his? With his money and his wits and his god-like face—he could ensnare anybody.

It was twisted.

_But something was even more wrong with Sebastian Smythe._

* * *

She was looking all over her apartment for her purse all morning, even looking all over the apartment building but to no avail.

She knew she threw it somewhere after getting home in the wee hours of the morning. She was dead tired and she was already pestered—the memories of last night went past as a blur inside her head and she remembered that pretty-faced bastard who kept on making his move on her on the subway back home.

She wondered if…

_Oh no._

Her eyes widened as she remembered how the man from the subway had shouted after her but thinking it was a trick, she didn't look back.

Now it's gone for good.

It contained some of her more personal stuff—a necklace that her mother and her father got her for her sixth birthday, a few bills and the receipt of the pawnshop she sold Ronnie's gift to her for her seventeenth birthday. She'd be damned if she didn't get it back.

_You will never get it back._

Oh damn.

She went off to see Ronnie and Kelly in their apartment and was surprised to see that Josh the Bartender was there also, sitting on the couch and watching TV as Ronnie sprawled on the carpeted floor, groaning and obviously in a tremendous amount of pain.

"Hi, girls… and guy…" she awkwardly greeted, sparing the kind Josh a kind smile before receiving a grunt from Ronnie and a 'hey' from Kelly from inside the kitchen.

She made her way towards Kelly and whispered, "I knew you'd do it."

Kelly flushed a bright crimson as she stopped stacking cans to face her friend. "I don't what you're talking about—he called this morning and said he's gonna check up on Ronnie…"

Santana leaned on the sink, narrowed her eyes with a small lingering smile on her lips at her friend and laughed. "Yeah, yeah, if that's what you'd like me to think."

"Santana!" she whispered, paranoid and confused.

The older girl shrugged her shoulders and turned to look at the back of the bartender's head. Truly, the man is attractive even if he's not facing them.

And it broke Santana's weird perception that the man actually lives in the bar since they rarely see him anywhere but inside his bar.

As if on cue, his head turned as his shoulders accompanied it towards their direction. "Are you girls okay in there?"

Kelly turned away and continued doing what she was doing a few moments ago, probably blushing.

"Yeah, we are," Santana answered, giving Kelly a good-natured smile.

He smiled kindly and stood up to help Ronnie into a sitting position. When she did not comply, he hastily carried her bridal-way and walked into the room to place her gingerly on top of the bed.

"Look at him… so chivalrous…" Kelly breathed dreamily.

Santana lifted herself off of the sink and sauntered over to the living room with Josh emerging from the slightly ajar door of the room.

"I lost my purse," she said to him, frowning a little.

"Can I offer any kind of help?" he asked, looking at her with those rust-colored eyes.

"I don't really know, Josh," she replied, tucking her head to her chest as she sat on the couch with him. Whatever was on the TV's about two young boys during Hitler's time.

"Well, I'll call my friend who works there, ask him of this purse, is that okay with you?"

It's needless to say, this young man is not only attractive but is also a saint.

"Yeah, thank you," she answered grinning at him.

* * *

He woke up with a start from a gripping nightmare that morning—his forehead was painted with sweat and so was his whole body.

His muscles were tense and he was trembling as he sat up his white-sheeted bed.

The echoes of his scream were still in the recesses of his soundproof room, bouncing inside his head from wall to wall.

It's always been like this for the past couple of years ever since…

He didn't want to dwell on it anymore—it's painful.

On his bedside was the purse that he had gotten from that girl who looked like a glowing goddess in the subdued gloominess of a Manhattan subway.

He grins to himself as he remembered how deliciously this woman had rejected his moves.

Maybe, to her, it will only be a one-time thing—that meeting Sebastian Smythe on the subway was as rare as it gets. But he surely knows how to get what he wants.

_Santana Lopez, huh?_

"Good evening, my favorite girl in Manhattan," Jason the gatekeeper greeted Santana as she sauntered over to where he was sitting.

"Hi, Jay," she replied sulkily, still not over losing her purse and its contents.

Somehow, not really puzzling, Jason found what's wrong with her voice. "Is there something wrong, honey?"

"Yeah, well," she breathed, biting her lip softly. "I lost my purse. It's got a lot of important things in it."

Jason's well-plucked eyebrows furrowed at this as his hand found Santana's forearm. "Do you know where you potentially left it?"

She frowned, remembering how it all happened. "I know who has it," she said with a bit of bitterness in her voice. "I just don't know how to get it back."

"Sometimes you just have to let go of the past, honey," Jason said, giving her a wicked grin of both wisdom and playfulness combined.

"I don't know if you're really full of wisdom, or just really full of crack," she said, giving into the smile that has been threatening to break out. "I'll try getting help. Thanks, Jay."

"You know, I love it when you call me 'Jay'," he said, giving her a wink.

The girl gasped with a mocking surprise, "I thought you're gay!"

"Oh, sweetheart," the gatekeeper laughed.

Santana gave him a full on smile and found her way to the backdoor only to be called again by the kind man.

"Santana… you know, sometimes the past catches up on you…" and somehow, the way he said those words wasn't the kind to be joked about. His eyes had a prophetic gleam in them that's hard to disregard.

Santana nodded and went inside.

* * *

_It was the same tiring night. She got to take her clothes off but be saved from the dirty intercourse. It was heavenly._

She felt like she could cry for hours.

A patron of the club who was apparently named George has gone psycho on many of the girls because he was asking for Santana and, of course, could not be granted his request because she was off the market. He injured a lot of the girls, and was only stopped when Limerick, Kyle, two of the club's bouncers, and Jason got a hold of him and pinned him to the ground.

She was dumbfounded.

And it took her the walk all the way to the subway to cool her chest down. Even then, she was still on the verge of breaking down if it hadn't been for the familiar face that presented itself in front of her.

Somehow, his corporate look was the clue because he was already almost erased from her conscious mind. His hair was swept up in a modern-look that he could be mistaken as an American model or something—but it was his choice of clothing that gave him away.

He was wearing something close to "funeral clothing" as she calls it. Black tie, black suit, white polo shirt, gray overcoat; everything screams rich and dark. He had his back turned towards her, somehow minding something else. She just wished he wouldn't see her.

_The purse, you idiota!_

Just at the same moment she was going to call the stranger, he turned around to face her with a devilish grin on his ridiculously handsome face. His hand was in his coat pocket but he was directly addressing her.

"Oh, it's you," he said with mock surprise that she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Give me my purse back," she said, getting directly to the point. She didn't want to prolong her interaction with this strange man.

"What makes you think I have it?" he said, narrowing his eyes and cocking his head to the right with that same devilish grin on his lips.

She purses her own lips and scowls at this man who thinks greatly of himself. She just… it just annoyed the hell out of her that she's sure she could rip this man to shreds in just one minute.

"Just give it back to me, asshole!" she shouts at him inside the empty subway, the sound resonating to the walls.

"Wow, you have got quite a decibel there, young lady!" he said, chuckling a little bit.

This man is unbelievable! And utterly impossible.

"What the hell do you want, you psycho?" she practically screams, feeling the freedom of shouting at the top of her lungs because there weren't people to mind. Thank this guy for a reason to do so.

"Wow," he scoffs. "I don't know… you just seem like a person who's got a lot of issues."

_Wow, spot on, strange person. Nailed me on the head there._

Her scowl had gone deeper than usual at this particular comment, making her advance on him in three threatening steps. Her hands shamelessly felt around his clothing just to find if the purse was indeed in his possession.

She felt his breath hitch at this sudden movement and found that her intrepidity was a surprise to him.

His voice came breathy and seductive in her ears as they were only inches apart.

"As much as I enjoy your sudden intrusion, I think I might pass on this one… _Santana._"

Her head snapped up at this, her blazing gaze meeting his seemingly innocent one. How the hell did he…?

_He saw the purse. Goddamn. _

He reached into the back pocket of his slacks and retrieved her purse, a smirk on his weasel-like face.

She quickly snatched it out of his hands and pocketed it before it gets lost again.

They stood looking at each other with conviction that if gazes were swords, well… let's just say no one will go home unscathed.

He finally decided to break the silence. "My name's Sebastian Smythe… you know, just for proper introductions."

Her eyes narrowed in disbelief at this asshole. "Nothing is proper about this, you jerk! You stole my purse and rummage into it—you still believe I'm going to sleep with you after all that?"

He laughed in amusement.

"First of all, I didn't steal your purse, you dropped it and in all my kindness, I decided to search into it to find any identification whatsoever… luckily, I found a name, which is already hard to start with. You should thank me, really. I exerted an hour of my time tracking you—which was almost virtually impossible since there are only two people in New York named Santana Lopez and the other one was dead two years ago and the other one, I assume is you, has no permanent address.

"You literally are a girl that's hard to find, Miss Lopez."

Her heart stopped at the mention of a dead Santana Lopez for she knew exactly why she's dead.

It was her two years ago after the great fire. People assumed she was dead.

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he mentioned her name again.

"Santana, are you alright?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Why is it your concern? Leave me alone, bastard."

She made to get out of his personal space, but he kept invading hers with a step forward towards her.

"You know, I'll never do that," he said, giving her a menacing grin. "You've called me a total of four demeaning names tonight… I wonder what else you've got in your vocabulary."

She gritted her teeth. And was somehow impressed that he kept track of her impeccable vocabulary of foul words.

_What an impossible jerk._

"Okay," he said, suddenly surrendering. "Fine, I'll just leave now… you know, if you give me your number. Easy business."

She smirked at him.

"Oh, that's easy business considering I don't really have a phone," she said, giving him an evil smirk.

His smile dropped a little at this, backing away a few steps from her knowing that he had reached a dead end.

Then his smirk placed itself back on his face. "Okay, alright… but, you know, I'll find a way around that."

The white blur of the train went past Sebastian Smythe's back, sending a gust of wind brushing past both of them. Santana eyed the train and gave this man, now named Sebastian, a glare so cold that he took a step away from the train's doors to let her in.

"After you, mademoiselle—

"Don't!" she said, stopping him with her index finger poking at his chest. "Take the next train. I don't want to see your face here."

He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her.

"Are you serious right now?"

She raised both of her brows in acquiesce.

He raised both of his arms in defeat. "Fine, I'll see you around then," he spoke as the doors closed in front of her face.

He only caught a glimpse of what she said, which sounded like, "Let's hope not."

A few minutes later, he sat in the car that was waiting for him back up as he was examining this curious little piece of jewelry that he got from inside that girl's purse.

How curious.

It looked familiar—like he had seen the pendant somewhere but he couldn't quite remember. He smiled to himself as he pocketed it once again. They will definitely meet again… in the near future.

He looked at the rear view mirror to meet his driver's eyes saying, "To my apartment. And tell Hatchet I want a brand new iPhone on my doorstep tomorrow morning pronto."

The black driver nodded and wove through the thin traffic of Manhattan's wee hours.

* * *

**Another A/N: **Okay, tell me what you think. :)


	4. Who is Adam Smythe?

**A/N: **I am so sorry about this being sooooooo late! Here you go. And a little ditty down there.

_Character Introduction: A. Smythe_

* * *

All she did want to do was play with her mommy, play dolls with her. Her collection in her room had always been untouched and sometimes, they scare her at night when they stare blankly at her through those beady eyes.

All she did want to do was play with them with her mommy.

But even before she reached her mommy's study, she was met with this foul smell of something burning… and heat was coming from down the hall. There were screams, blood-curdling screams for help.

_Mommy's calling for me. I can't move._

She can't move—she was frozen in place, crying and begging for her mommy and her daddy and anyone.

_There were other voices swimming in her head as if the screams weren't loud enough to deafen her._

"I promise you, Lopez. One day, you will come begging at my door for me to deal with you."

"Are you threatening me, Arthur?"

"No… I am only predicting the future."

The heat was more intense than before, burning her tears and her hair. Somehow, she felt like she was drowning. The air in her lungs was vaporizing, rising out of her throat. She couldn't do anything about it.

* * *

The alarm clock was buzzing mercilessly on her bedside, bringing her up from her nightmare. She felt like all of the living energy in her body had vanished.

Nevertheless, she got up and stretched. It was already nine in the morning; good thing she wouldn't be going anywhere today except Ronnie and Kelly's apartment.

When she got there, the two girls' faces were worn in amusement, mischief, and curiosity. They were holding a white box in their hands, examining it as if it were some alien body that has landed on their apartment by accident.

They looked at Santana with curious glints in their eyes as if it was her fault that this happened.

Ronnie stood from the couch and walked over to Santana who was frozen in place. She held her friend's shoulders with a smile, and said, "Who's the guy, Sanny?"

Her eyes narrowed at this. "What guy?"

"Oh don't be so coy, San," Kelly said, holding up the box. When she caught a glimpse of it, she saw that it was indeed a box that contains the latest version of iPhone… which is strange because even if she did have the money to buy it, she wouldn't have bought it.

"There's a cute little letter inside—I hope you don't mind if we opened it before you did," said Ronnie, shaking with glee.

All the while, Santana gaped at them with her mouth slightly slacked open in surprise.

"_But you know… I'll find a way around that."_

_Shit, it's the bastard._

Kelly rummaged the box for that small piece of elegantly bordered white paper and handed it to Santana, letting her read its contents.

_To Santana, the girl with many issues,  
I did tell you I'd find a way around it. I hope you won't mind.  
I pre-installed my number in it._

_From The Psychotic Bastard who's also a Jerk and another one I can't remember.  
SCS_

There was a low growl in her throat that's threatening to draw full scale in a decibel no one would ever appreciate. Her blood was boiling in her veins as she tried so hard not to crumple the paper in her hand. It was also written in such a calligraphic handwriting that it's so hard to comprehend—the letters were sitting there on paper, mocking her as if the real Sebastian Smythe was in front of her with his damn good-looking smirk.

But of course, he would send it to her friends' apartment because she never indicated in anything that her home address was the current apartment that she's living in right now. And now, her friends would know this bastard, too. And everybody knows how friends react to something like this.

"Hey, Sanny, are you okay?" Ronnie asked, touching her best friend's arm.

She shook her head out of that annoying memory in her head and gave her best friend a tight smile.

"Well?" Kelly urged. "Aren't you gonna open it?"

She sat on the couch and snatched the box from Kelly, sighing as she did so. When she opened it, she couldn't believe her eyes. Even if she worked her ass off day and night, she would never be able to afford this kind of shit.

_But, why?_

She turned the thing on and a few seconds later, it rang.

She decided to let it ring a few more seconds, sparing her friends a glance that said, 'What the fuck?'

When she pushed the green button on its touch screen surface and brought the thing to her ear, she heard nothing but the seductive tone of this stranger.

"_Hello, Santana. It's nice that you've received my gift."_

"You bastard," she said in a surprisingly moderate tone. But it did give away that she was irritated. "Why are you doing this?"

"_Well, do you believe in destiny? I do and when I saw you two nights ago, I knew it had to be fate."_

She frowned. "Oh no, you didn't. You didn't just throw romantic shit at me."

There was a laugh at the other end of the line, making Santana's muscles twitch. She just wanted to punch this asshole in the face.

"_You got me… I never say that to anybody."_

"But why, asshole?" she said through gritted teeth.

"_I don't know. I like you, maybe."_

_Whoa there, young man. That was a confession. Oh no, you didn't._

"What?!" she asked, completely oblivious to the fact that her friends were listening intently to their conversation.

"_You are unbelievably deaf, you know that? I said I like you."_

Her eyes widened incredibly that she thought they might pop out of her skull. This stranger did not just do something that's completely strange and out of place like… confess. Damn.

"_You know what? You can keep silent all you want, I'm gonna talk the shit out of you. And know that I'm in the middle of a business meeting and nine people are staring at me, probably wondering who the hell you are—_

"Stop, okay! What do you want?" she said, silencing him for a little while. She had turned deep crimson at the revelation that he was in a meeting. Even if she wasn't there, it's still embarrassing as hell. But why was he talking in between a meeting? Who the hell does he think he is?

"_I want to see you," _he said after a few seconds. _"A date—a proper date."_

"Why would I want to do that… with you out of all people?"

"_To pay this kind man what you owe him after waiting for hours in the subway and giving back your purse."_

_Shit._

"Fine… just get off the damn phone—you're embarrassing me."

And somehow, she could hear the mocking smirk on his pretty face. _"It's a deal then? I will call you and give you the when and where. Goodbye, Santana."_

Then the call clicked off.

She sighed as she looked at the new iPhone which apparently was hers now. But she was meaning to give it back the moment they meet. She could not afford paying for it, so she should just give it back instead.

All the while, Ronnie and Kelly were looking at her with stupid goofy grins on their faces.

"Who is it?" asked Ronnie in an overly-hyperactive, bouncy way. "Is he hot? Oh my God, he gave you an iPhone—he must be filthy rich."

She gave both of them an incredulous look. "You know how I react to this," she said, leaning back on the couch and biting her lower lip in contempt.

"Yeah, just like the way you rejected Josh the bartender before," said Ronnie, giving Kelly a knowing look.

"But, San, what about this guy?" Kelly said, furrowing her brows. "He can take you out of this misery, you know that."

She pursed her lips and looked at both of her friends.

They may be right, but there's something in Jacques hands that's holding her back and even if she did want to get out of this hell hole, she would need to face a lot of things first before emerging. If she could even ever emerge alive.

"I don't even know him," she finally answered. "We met at the subway, he's got my purse and gave it back to me. That's it."

"That couldn't just be _it_," Ronnie said, frowning at Santana. "Give this a chance, Sanny. Be normal for once, you know. But if this doesn't work out, then let it be."

"You know I can't do that," she said. "He's just a sleaze who's aching to get me to bed—and when he finds out that I cannot give him what he wants, he'll just up and leave me. I can't do that."

And for once, they shut up because they know exactly what she's talking about.

* * *

Eleven years ago wasn't anything different when he first met Maximillian Smythe, his adoptive father's brother.

His eyes were behind thin-rimmed, oval-shaped glasses, skimming his young appearance. His lips were in a thin line while his brow was raised in contradiction. Sebastian knew exactly who this man is and why he's there. He's there because he has an opinion about everything and he has an opinion about his brother's decision to adopt an imbecile.

His scrutiny… it wasn't the worst the young boy had gone through—what with the verbal and physical abuse he had endured all these years. The older Smythe was just a little different. He didn't speak to him nor touch him; he seemed like he was abstaining himself from the dirt that is Sebastian.

He even refused to call him Sebastian until he moved in with him two years ago. Since his parents adopted him, Maximillian called him 'Thomas'. It was a simple reminder that he didn't belong with them, that he came from dirt and he will remain as dirt for the rest of his life until he's proven something.

Maybe because he knew there's something wrong with Sebastian.

_But that's just an assumption._

That afternoon, Sebastian was expected to meet with Maximillian's son from his first marriage, Adam.

Adam Smythe is about the same age as him, a year older, tall and curly-blonde. They attended the same private school and are very close despite Maximillian's warning to Adam about Sebastian's bearings. All of Sebastian's life, Adam was the only person who accepted him as he is and never doubted his capabilities. For once, Sebastian thought of himself as worthy of affection from someone he considers a brother.

But Adam had to go to Germany for a few years to continue his studies. God knows how miserable he was when he was left with Maximillian.

Today would be different.

Sitting inside a coffee shop downtown Manhattan was Adam, bright blue eyes overlooking the busy streets while sipping his coffee.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted that copper-haired young man walking down the street and towards the café with a smile on his handsome face. He returned the smile with an even bigger one while waving at him. A few seconds later, he was seated in front of the blonde with his own cup of coffee.

"It's been three years, buddy," Adam said, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice. His smile never wavered.

"Too long, really," Sebastian replied, smiling, too. "I actually thought you'd never come back."

"Well, you _missed _me," he said, raising his brows with a smirk.

Sebastian looked like he was deeply thinking about it, weighing whether he did or not, but he truly did. "Oh well, if you think so, yes."

Adam chuckled at this heartily. He knew so well his role in this boy's life and he holds him in his heart dearly even though his father never approved of their friendship.

"How's life been for you?" he asked, resting his back on his chair.

Life? It's been tumultuous but it's hilarious in every way. It just picks on him whenever it can. He wished he could tell him everything, but there are just some walls to break in order for him to do that. And he couldn't… not right now.

"It's perfect," he said, giving him a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Some days are better than the others, but it's great. Definitely better without you in the scene."

Sebastian knew in himself that he added that last part to mask his real feelings.

"Good to hear that," said Adam, looking at him with the same smirk. "Because I'm going back to Germany in three weeks."

Sebastian's mouth dropped open at this in protest. But before he could say anything, Adam was on it faster.

"I'm just checking in on you, my mom, Alexa, and Max before completing my doctorate," he said, giving him a sad smile.

"Damn you, Adam," Sebastian hissed, looking away. "Have you no mercy?"

Adam laughed again, breaking Sebastian's serious face. He also laughed but he didn't look at Adam. He was contemplating in himself something else other than his departure.

"How about we talk about something else other than that?" Adam suggested, giving him another one of his handsome smiles. "Say, I've never met any of your pursuits since I went out of the country. Do you have any in the current?"

Sebastian ran his tongue in between his dried lips, thinking about that one girl named Santana Lopez and feeling the rush in his veins again.

"Right at the moment? None," he lied, scoffing. "What about your latest conquest? What's her name? Denise… what is it? Isn't she a model?"

He watched as Adam flushed and looked down, obviously elated. "Her name's Denise Dexter. She's, uh, she's a photography major. And yes, she's modeling a bit."

"You sound like you're going to marry the girl in three days," said Sebastian, shooting him a playful smile.

Adam shook his head with vigor. "No, it's just…"

Sebastian knew what he's going to say next. "You're in love… aren't you?"

Adam shifted on his seat and smiled to himself, quietly admitting to Sebastian's urging.

"You are, dammit!" Sebastian exclaimed, feigning disgust. "You are a disgrace, Adam Smythe. How dare you? I deem you now disowned."

Adam laughed so hard at this that the other customers around them looked at him quizzically. He quickly apologized and calmed himself, still flushed.

"But, seriously, Adam?" Sebastian asked, leaning in. "You're too young to be in love with a German model. Enjoy life—like what I'm doing."

"Yeah," said Adam, nodding. "And kill my kidney in the process? No thanks, Seb."

Sebastian grunted and leaned back on his seat, chewing the inside of his cheek.

He looked at Adam and saw that he was thinking about something—those furrowed brows, his averted gaze, the way he shifted on his seat, he was going to say something that's a bit touchy and Sebastian foresaw that.

"I'm so sorry about—

"I'm fine," he quickly cut him. "It doesn't matter. It's been two years. I'm over it."

"It's just… too much, I guess. A year after I left for Germany, they—

"Stop, it's okay, really," he interjected. "I don't want to talk about it, Adam. Come, let's get you home."

* * *

_People say they see nothing of Maximillian in Adam Smythe, the golden boy. Adam Smythe is the smartest of his batch in Dalton Academy, one of the most prestigious private schools in America. He is also an athlete who has won numerous recognitions and medals from countless competitions nationwide._

_His father, although proud of what his son had done, shows none of his enthusiasm._

_Still, handsome young Adam showed potential in the industry that his father had delved into._

_Although his father had divorced his mother and remarried, Adam kept to his heart his father's accomplishments as his inspiration—at least that's what he says to the world._

_He is the next to inherit his father's company in a few years because he was the first son in his first marriage._

_People do not recognize the glint in his eyes._

_They do not recognize Adam Smythe._

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry again if this is sooooo late. _  
_

Coup De Theatre is a little different from "For Show". The latter is focused on one plot that has a few other sub-plots. This one is winding and a little confusing, if you ask me. It's what I consider "psychological" and "political" (like For Show). There definitely will be Rated M stuff, but that's a little later into the story.

So yeah, as you can see, I'm obsessed with writing what fame, power, politics, and influences could do to a person/family/couple.

So, basically, I'm telling you that it's hard to write, but I enjoy writing it.

Anyhow, review for me, please? Tell me what you think of Adam. ;)


	5. News

On hiatus for the meantime as I try finishing this one shot. And school. And everything. Please bear with me, I'm still a high school student trying to finish a year of school before moving on to another one. It's dangerous and precarious balancing on the line between a hobby and a future.

In the meantime, I'm still writing one-shots, things that would require little of my attention and time but will nevertheless exercise my passion for this ship and for writing. Long live Sebtana shippers, you are one of the most exciting shippers I have ever met.

Don't worry, I love you all, I won't disappear off of the face of the earth. I know how it feels to lose contact with someone. I wouldn't do that to anybody.

I'm accepting PROMPTS now, too! It's official, I'm accepting them. You can hit me up on Tumblr or on Twitter for requests. I'm just shy to post it on both of those sites, don't know why. So, spread the news, okay?

I will post mainly on the prompts (if ever they actually come), but I will post anywhere upon request.

That is all. Ciao!


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